Tag: aunts

Abuelito materno


Mi abuelito

My maternal grandfather, José Guillermo Martínez, is another family mystery. My mother told me several stories about him, but I’m not sure if any of them were true. Although they may be based on truth, my mother embellished them beyond recognition. My cousin and I compared stories when I was in Mexico and all the stories seem to be plausible to a certain extent.

My mother absolutely loved her father, and many things often reminded her of him. She would tell me about him on these occasions. I really believed all these stories for most of my life.

When I began playing chess religiously in high school, she told me that I reminded her of her father because he always loved to play chess. People would always go to visit him so they could play him at chess. One day, my mother asked me what the highest chess ranking was. I told her chess grandmaster. She then said, “That’s what my father was! A grandmaster!” I was truly proud of this fact! No wonder I suddenly developed this interest in chess. It was in my genes.

I started bragging about this little interesting tidbit about my grandfather to my chess friends. My friend Jim asked me what my grandfather’s name was, so I told him. A few days later, he gently broke the news to me. My grandfather was never a chess grandmaster, or even a master. Jim had looked up the names of all chess masters and grandmasters who had ever lived. If my grandfather were really a chess grandmaster, his name would have appeared on one of those lists. I was so embarrassed. I told my mother about this little discrepancy in her story, and she brushed it off as if it were nothing. I told this story to my cousin in Mexico, and she had heard that our grandfather did like to play chess but didn’t know much else about his chess career.

My mother also told me that her father’s father had come to Mexico from Ireland during a potato famine. His surname was either McLean or McLin, but she really wasn’t sure. Well, he met a Mexican girl, and when she got pregnant, they killed him. That’s what my mother told me when I was a boy.

My cousin had never even heard this story. She had heard that he was possibly Jewish and possibly from Germany. He had studied electrical engineering and had many books on the subject in German. He also knew various languages. My cousin’s mother told her that they called my mother and her sisters, las judías, again suggesting that my grandfather was possibly Jewish.

When my grandfather was on his deathbed, my mother flew to México from Perth Amboy, New Jersey, to be with him. I went, too, but I was still a baby in my mother’s arms. My mother was so concerned about his spiritual well-being in the afterlife that she told her father that she would get him a priest to administer him his last rites. My grandfather indicated that he didn’t need a priest and said, “If he comes, I’ll talk to him. But I won’t confess.” My mother never told me that story.

DDR

Waiting for Montezuma


El Palacio Presidencial, Mexico DF

Okay, the one thing that worried me even more than the drive to Mexico was the fear of getting sick there. You know, Montezuma’s Revenge. When I went to Mexico in 1978, my mother advised me as to what to eat and what to avoid eating in order not to get sick. Since she went to Mexico every year, I honestly believed she knew what she was talking about. She told me, and I still remember to this day, to avoid drinking the water and eating fruits, chicken, and eggs. But most important of all: “Don’t drink the water!” I was there for a month, and I really enjoyed myself despite depriving myself of some foods in the beginning.

When I took the bus to Celaya with my aunt and cousin, all my relatives were eating chicarrón and I couldn’t resist indulging myself. Besides, chicharrón was NOT on my mother’s list of foods to avoid. So, I really, really indulged on chicharrón! Well, the next day, I felt nauseous, me who rarely gets sick. Soon, I was vomiting and had the runs. Simultaneously! My aunt attributed my illness to the chicharrón I had eaten. I felt so deathly ill that the only thing that kept me living was the hope that I would die. But blessings sometimes come disguised. After I recovered a few days later, I was able to eat anything I wanted. I even drank the water without getting sick again.

So, when I went to Mexico this time, I dreaded the risk of getting sick again. I remembered my mother’s list. But then I thought that if I got sick immediately I could then enjoy the rest of my trip with my newly acquired immunity. I drank agua de horchata, which is rice water that is very tasty. I assume that it’s made primarily of water, unpurified water, that is. It even had ice cubes! Presumably, also made from unpurified water.

When I went to my aunt’s house, I ate some fruit (I don’t remember what it was called) from a tree in her back yard and she scolded me for eating the peel since I didn’t wash it. Well, I kept waiting for my impending onset of “discomfort” with Montezuma’s Revenge. I remained healthy the entire trip! I felt like a real Mexican!

DDR

New Year’s Eve


Making tamales with TLC

I have many fond memories of New Year’s Eve beginning in my childhood when our entire family would go to my Uncle Simon’s and Aunt Mari’s house. The party always involved eating a lot of  Mexican food and real hard play among cousins. At midnight, everyone, I mean children, too, toasted with a glass of champagne. That was the only time of the year I drank alcohol–until I became an altar boy and my friend once talked me into taking a sip of altar wine before mass.  But I only indulged that once because I felt so guilty and sinful afterwards.

Once, we were in Mexico for New Year’s Eve and we celebrated by making tamales and eating them. In Chicago, my mother made the masa during the day and then made buñuelos at midnight as a way of ringing in the new year. I think that New Year’s Eve wasn’t as exciting once we stopped going to my aunt’s and uncle’s house. I don’t really remember too many of those later celebrations now. When I was married, I was content to stay home with my wife and son and watch the festivities in Chicago on TV. When I lived in Bridgeport, I used to take my oldest son to the attic window at midnight where we could see the fireworks downtown. When the twins were born, we moved farther away from downtown, so we could no longer see the fireworks from the window. But we watched them on TV, although not quite as dramatic.

Later, after my divorce, my Mexicana girlfriend decided that we would make tamales for New Year’s Eve. She bought a giant pot for the tamales and lots and lots of masa. We would make tamales together, just the two of us. Actually, I enjoyed making the tamales. In Mexico, I only got to watch the women of the family make the tamales; males weren’t allowed to touch the masa. My girlfriend showed me how to mix the meat into the masa and stuff the masa into the corn husk. She had made tamales a few times and actually knew what she was doing. We even made some sweet tamales with raisins. We had about six different kinds of tamales. We literally did this for at least two hours and the giant pot was still only half-full. However, she insisted that we fill the pot all the way to the top. We filled the pot at about 3:00 a.m. And I was exhausted!

But wait! She put a penny at the bottom of the pot where there was boiling water to steam the tamales. The flame underneath had to be at just the right temperature and you could tell if the temperature was just right because the penny would keep making noise as the boiling water moved it. The only time I really saw tamales made was in Mexico as a boy, but my mother and aunts cooked the tamales over a bonfire.

Well, I went to bed about 6:00 a.m. because I couldn’t stay awake anymore. She stayed up to keep adding water and ensuring that the tamales cooked properly. I didn’t realize they would involve so much work. She woke me up a few hours later when they were done. She had stayed up the whole time! We then ate the tamales and they were so delicious! We ate them later that day. And the next day, too. There were so many tamales that she put some in her fridge and froze the some in her freezer. And there were still some tamales leftover! So I took some home and put them in my freezer. We ate tamales until the Fourth of July! And we never got tired of them. We loved them!

¡Happy New Year! ¡Próspero Año Nuevo!

DDR

My Mexican relatives


María del Carmen Martínez Valdivia

Well, I sure learned a lot about my family on this trip to México. For one, most of the stories that my mother told me about her family weren’t true! While talking to my cousin, I realized that none of the facts matched most of the stories my mother told me when I was a boy.

For example, my mother would often tell me how when she was a girl, she wanted a life-like doll for her birthday. One that cried like a real baby, drank a bottle, and wet her diapers, etc. And on my mother’s birthday, my tía Jovita was born. That was the birthday present my mother really wanted! Well, I told my cousin this story and she said that tía Jovita’s birthday is on December 24. So, this doesn’t match up to my mother’s birthday on April 27! Later, I discovered that my mother did get her birthday present, but it is my aunt Matilde, not Jovita. I had forgotten the birthday present’s name.

Also, everyone in México always knew my mother as Helen. When I was little that’s what my father called her. I always knew her as Helen, too, until she became a U.S. citizen, and she changed her legal name to Carmen M. Rodríguez. When my mother died, I was surprised to discover that her real name, based on her birth certificate was María del Carmen Martínez Valdivia.

When I was little, my mother always told me how she and her sisters didn’t like their given names, so they changed them to something that they really liked. Mariana Anita became Esthela, María del Carmen became Helen, María became Marusa, Rebeca became Jovita. Unfortunately, I can’t remember her sister Laura’s original name. Their brother Alfredo always remained Alfredo. Go figure!

My cousin also told me that her mother told her how my mother used to dress in boy’s clothes and insisted on being called Alejandro. Of course, I’m not sure how true this story is because it turns out my tía also liked to embellish her stories. But if it is true, what a coincidence that I also liked the name so much that I named one of my sons Alejandro!

DDR

Mexico City


Don’t leave home without it!

Mexico City is the largest city in the Western Hemisphere. The traffic is a nightmare that I somehow managed to survive. And I did it at night.

My relatives in Celaya told me not to go to Mexico City just because of the traffic. Of course, that only served to make me even more determined to go. My aunt told me if the traffic scared me to turn around and go back to Celaya. But my cousin did give me some good advice: If you can’t find the address you’re looking for, ask a taxi driver to go there and follow him.

I was going to my cousin’s house in Mexico City, but I had no idea where in the city she lived. When I got to Mexico City, I’m driving in heavy rush hour traffic trying to read the map that didn’t really help me as other drivers were weaving all around me. Then, I see the sign for Paseo de Reforma, which I remember from my previous trip to México City 29 years earlier. So, I exit there and head to the Angel de la Independencia. There, I bought a map of the city and found her neighborhood and street address.

However, once I attempted to find her house, I couldn’t find her street. I circled the area several times before I finally gave up. I saw a taxi driver and asked him if he knew where la Calle Miguel Ocaranza was. He, a native Mexican, had never even heard of the street! I showed him the map and he said that he could find it. He led me there and I paid him 25 pesos plus tip. What an adventure it was driving in Mexico City! And I still have to drive through Mexico City to head home!!

DDR